Blood
by A Shade of Green
Summary: Short oneshot, a letter from Tom to Ginny TRGW


_Disclaimer: Not mine except for the crazy adjectives._

_A/N Well, I've loved this pairing since the first time I read the second book... Not many stories on it, so here's a little contribution._

_A/N2: Yes, I know I've been on a bit of a posting spree lately, but the stress has been getting to me and what better to do then to clean out my folders? I should be study... Spanish midterm you see... Oh yeah, I'm REALLY sorry for the first paragraph! I didn't really realize how many adjectives there were, but when I tried to edit it, nothing seemed right... Anyways, here it is, I call it Blood, but its gone through maybe 5 million titles..._

Blood

Blood is beautiful. It has a strange red that seems so odd, so different, so hard to find. It's so intoxicating, how a single cut on porcelain skin can create a blooming, a flowering of crimson. The simple sanguine of a flowing river falls upon your delicate arms, so thin, so pale.

You cry to me, telling me it hurts. "Stop Tom, stop it!" Of course, I wouldn't want you sad. I still need you. So I wave my hand and the cuts are gone. But the blood is still there. So vibrant against the alabaster skin.

Days, weeks, months pass, and you are still infatuated with that Potter boy. But in a way, you love me more. You write to me whenever you can about anything, everything. When I come out to you, you look into my green eyes and melt. But you still wish I was Potter.

Valentine's Day and you're horrified. You've sent that ridiculous message to the Boy-Who-Lived and you come back crying. Of course, I'm there for you. You cry to sleep, with me there. Then pale lips fall upon pale lips.

Months later and we're in the Chamber of Secrets. You were so scared, so intimidated when I made you touch the Basilisk. "Don't you feel the scales Ginny? It's so big, isn't it?" "Tom, I don't like it, make it go away!"

Hours later you lie on the ground, red hair floating with the water. The lighting makes your hair red, blood red. So dark against the white figure lying before me, still and dying. And I know that you will be gone so that I can regain power. But what you don't know is that when it happens, I will raise you to be my queen, my trophy. My beautiful trophy.

You wake for minutes at a time with blurred eyes, realizing that I was using you all along. You reach out to my face, feeling for glasses, for the scar, but they aren't there. I'm not Potter. You hate me because I did this to you, but you still love me. I've heard to your troubles for months now, asking for nothing in return. I know you think I'm quite handsome, but only because I look like Potter. But it doesn't matter. You love me, too simple minded to think anything else.

Ginny, my love. We were going to live well together; you at the hand of the most powerful wizard alive. There was no chance that anything at all would happen to you. You would've been rewarded greatly for your services to the Dark Lord. You would've carried my child, the heir of the Riddle line. An honor, don't you think?

But Potter, that damned boy. He came down and destroyed me, destroyed your chances of life, love to me. That blasted boy. He's what caused all of this.

So now I am here, in a world that isn't heaven or hell, but a middle world where the true damned live. Not that we can notice each other. We are all condemned to solitude for the rest of eternity. But right now, I miss you. I loved having you there, learning your secrets. I miss it all. Using you, hating you, loving you, making sure that no one caught us. It was all just a thrill. Just a thrill.

So here I write this letter to you that you will never get. I realize that it is pointless because it only takes up a fraction of what waiting in eternal hell will be. But here I am, writing a letter that will never be delivered, yearning for a loss that will never come back. But I know that you will still love me because of my mysterious ways and dark passion. What you feel is not a little infatuation anymore, but is a full blown attack on the soul that no one except yourself can help. But it will be there forever, for I cannot come and help sooth the pain. You will never become my empress.

-Tom Marvolo Riddle


End file.
